Forsworn
by Andromeda-Dreamer
Summary: The life and times of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn. Slash and het. Also gen. [GalbatorixMorzan]
1. Prologue

Okay. Hi, everyone. It's me, again. Um. chuckles nervously. You may remember me from such fics as: Forsworn of last year (or the year before?)

Yeah. Sorry about that. Tell me which intro you liked better? Thank you. It's important because I took this fic down before because I hated it. It wasn't the epic I wanted to write, and I kept looking back on it and wincing, trying to think up new story ideas. And then I totally lost the plot. Heh. So it would be nice to know what you guys think.

Shout-out to Drownedinlight, who encouraged me to look at Forsworn again, sorry it wasn't up in time, and I hope you like this.

To everyone new, hi!

Anyway.

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The introduction is an introduction, and sort of not hugely linked to the rest of the plot. Yet. But I promise the next chapter will have the main characters in!

Disclaimer: Christopher Paolini is not a very good author and he stole most of his work from Star Wars and LOTR and the Belgariad and other stuff but he still published Inheritance and this is derivative of that so anyway CP owns Murtagh, Brom, Morzan, Galbatorix, Selena, and anyone else you might recognize from the books. Aralin and the Forsworn are mine, but not in concept. Bleah.

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Title: Forsworn

Author: Andromeda-Dreamer

Rating: T (for safety, and as a catch-all)

Warnings: Slash (not overtly in this part, but definitely later), blood, mentions of violence

Summary: The life and times of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn, and the people he loved. SLASH. HET.

This chapter: It's a prologue. Just read it. And since the author's notes are longer than the piece of writing...here!

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FORSWORN

_The brightest light casts the darkest shadow_

--Introduction--

There is blood on his hands, crimson like Morzan's dragon and his sword. He looks at it in horror, fights back the scream welling in the back of his throat. Above him, a dragon circles, one last time, and he cannot believe what it is he has done.

The ground is damp and hard under his knees and his hands _are in Morzan's blood._ He tastes blood and bile on his tongue, and he can't see for tears. He'd thought it would be easy, killing this man. This man who killed the world—it isn't. He worshipped this man, once upon a time, could not have imagined what he's doing now—what he just did.

He doesn't know how he made that transition, from Rider to killer. Then again, Morzan did it with ease... He doesn't understand anything anymore.

He sucks in air like it's his last breath—which it could quite possibly be. In the air Morzan's dragon screams its death-scream, piercing the minds of any who hear. He has to leave.

The man under his hands (his killer's hands—he _swore _never to be like this, what _happened_?) looks at him, dark eyes piercing and sad, dulling with every moment that passes.

He says, in a voice that breaks and cracks with sorrow, "I'm sorry--" surprised to find true regret there--and he takes Morzan's limp hand in his.

The older man smiles, softly and as if it pains him. He whispers faintly, "Love her, as I once loved. And take my sword—don't let my son--." His eyes dull, and his dragon plummets like an arrow to the ground.

He crosses Morzan's arms on his chest, and closes his eyelids—it's the least thing he can do for this man he's killed. He takes the sword, holding it almost reverently, and then he hears the sound of footsteps. That's quick, but then again this is _Morzan_, not any of the other Forsworn.

He gets up and half-runs to his horse, mounting quickly. Then he rides until his horse is white with sweat and soldiers won't follow him any farther.

At his waist a sword called Misery remembers...

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Reviews would be nice! 


	2. Chapter One

Hi everyone! Thanks for the lovely reviews. Here's Chapter One, in which we are introduced to our Main Characters. Hope you like!

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Disclaimer: CP's. And he can keep it, thanks.

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FORSWORN

_The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.  
_

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--Chapter One--

The hall was beautiful. Crystal made up the walls and ceiling, and the floors were polished ivory.

Carved into the walls were murals depicting the various triumphs of the Dragon Riders of Ilirea, so real you could almost feel the heat of the flames spewing from flat dragons' mouths'. The two wooden doors, set into the walls so that it looked like they'd grown out of the crystal, were miracles of craftsmanship.

Most people who visited the Riders' Hall fainted in awe.

Morzan, on the other hand, was busy playing 'see who can wear the deepest groove in the floor'. With himself.

In the air, his dragon was annoying the elder dragons by flying the exact same stretch of air nine hundred and forty times in a row.

Morzan sighed. Morzan's dragon, Alyzarin, heaved the draconic equivalent of a sigh and said, _Morzan. I'm bored. This is boring_.

Morzan said, _Remember that old saying? If you save someone's life it's yours?_

Alyzarin said, _You're kidding._

Morzan sat on the bench provided for those waiting. _Look,_ he said, _He doesn't have anyone. They all died. Lyz, his dragon died. However morally wrong I think his choice is, he was their golden boy. He gave everything for the Riders, and this is how they repay him? They almost didn't let him into the council-room!_

_So now he's our problem._ Alyzarin was less than impressed. _Are you going to do this with every stray we find?_

Morzan blinked. _Probably,_ he said,_ Is that a problem?_

Alyzarin sighed in fond exasperation, and started flying in circles. _Glaedr and Oromis are looking for us._

_They can miss us for a couple of days. Unless you want to go back? I can get a ride with someone... _Morzan stared blankly at the wall.

_Don't be stupid. Or is that a bit too much to ask?_ His dragon replied, snappily.

_And here I was thinking you'd gotten over the fact that I picked him up._

_Picked him up. Exactly._

_...You're jealous!_

_Yes._

_You do remember that when first I saw him he was a bloody wreck?_

_Well. If you can like him after seeing that..._

_Oh, shut up._

Morzan ran a hand through his dark hair, worried despite himself. He, like everyone else who'd lived in Ilirea back when Galbatorix hatched, had been in awe of the wonder-boy, with his golden dragon and his magic. To hear of the disappearance of the Rider and his two companions had been a blow to whole community—Galbatorix had been a symbol more than a man; the most powerful Rider of the new generation, slated to be Vrael himself's successor.

Morzan hadn't been sure how he felt about that, to start with—most of his friends had seemed to think he should be angry, or jealous—after all, he was Vrael's son. But he'd never wanted the role; at that time he hadn't even hatched. Not that he'd give up 'Zarin for anything, but he hadn't seen the glamour.

His father was a hard, cold man, and had apparently become so because of his job; the leader of the Riders had to be morally assured to the point of arrogance, able to shut out everything except the safety of the Riders and Alagaesia...

Morzan's childhood had been fractured, travelling back and forth between his mother in her village and her father in his eyrie. When he came to live with Vrael for good, at the age of eight, he'd hated it and hoped he'd pass the age of eighteen (when most were Chosen; if you weren't by that point it was so unlikely you'd hatch that you got sent home) without incident and then he could leave. Get on with his life.

Then Alyzarin came along, of course, and he wouldn't have left for the world.

But that didn't solve Galbatorix's problem—a dragonless Rider. Very messy. The Riders preferred that if you lost your dragon you suicided; it was neat. Tied up all the loose ends. And it helped that there'd only been maybe five examples of dragon-death (without the Rider) in the past millenium. All of which added up to the fact that the Riders had no idea what to do with their golden boy, tarnished now.

He sighed, and buried his head in his hands. Where did that put him? If he backed the older man up, and the Council exiled him, he was likely to be banished too. There were enough young riders that it wouldn't be a terrific blow to lose Morzan—to add to his expediency, he wasn't particularly gifted at anything. Sure, he could do magic, but so could all Riders.

Which begged the question, _why_ on Alagaesia was he doing this? For someone he'd met maybe three times? But there'd been a connection, fleeting and swift though it might have been. The first time, Galbatorix had broken his gaze, turned and fled—though of course not as crudely as those words would suppose, but with a charming smile and an excuse that would've satisfied the most cynical among the watchers.

Those eyes—Morzan couldn't help comparing the golden, glowing man he'd seen at Galbatorix's graduation with the broken creature who'd staggered into Morzan's clearing (near Oromis', but shielded) three days ago, clothes ragged, hair grown long, and _dragonless_.

_-Flashback-_

Morzan sat in the red-bark tree, thinking. Above him Alyzarin was practicing aerial war-maneuvers—Glaedr'd been particularly snappy that day and ripped all the young dragons to shreds. In response, Morzan's dragon was determined to show the gold exactly how good she could be.

Morzan said, _You do know that's manipulation, right?_

_Yes. And I don't care. I'm going to show him._ Alyzarin muttered, vengefully. _I am good at this stuff. This is what I am good at. Let everyone else have their magic; this is my thing, dammit. And he doesn't get to mock me. Grr._

_Love? _Morzan soothed. _Calm down. S'alright. He's probably having a bad day. You know how these old people get..._

Alyzarin smirked draconically. _Point. That makes me feel better, actually._

Morzan rolled his eyes. _Could you be any more of a female adolescent?_

_Morzan? I love you dearly and I would hate to see you burned to a crisp._

He laughed, but subsided, and settled back to watch his dragon fly. She was beautiful, he thought, red wings and gold underbelly—made of sunset. And she fit, like this, soaring through the pink-tinged clouds as the day ended and the sun died. His dragon. His other-soul.

A twig dug into his back, and he shifted. His branch broke, and he swore as he fell. His dragon caught him with her magic, and he thanked her as he floated to the ground.

_I'm an adolescent female; you're an idiot. Fine pair we make,_ Alyzarin chided.

Morzan picked himself up and brushed himself off. _...Right. Hey, who's that?_

The trees just beyond his clearing rustled, and he heard a groan of pain.

_Who? Morzan, be careful--_

He brushed off his dragon's warning, and walked towards the rustling. "Hey, there. You all right?" He pushed back the low branches obscuring his view-- "Oh, my god. _Lyz!_"

She saw through his eyes. _Morzan, I--_

_Go for help. The Healers, and I suppose Vrael. I'll—lend me some magic?_

He felt the thread of her power—so much richer than his own, and stronger—pool inside him. It felt good, but he had no time to revel in the feeling of strength. He was vaguely aware, in the back of his mind, that he glowed. This was normal, but a bit irritating.

He knelt, ignoring the branches whipping his face and bare arms, and looked at the face of the wreck of a man—barely recognizable as a man, for all the blood—curled up at his feet, bleeding copiously and looking like he'd been through the old Dragon Wars singlehandedly.

Gently Morzan touched his face, feeling fresh blood on his hands. He wouldn't—couldn't—waste time on stupid questions—gods knew how long the man'd last before he passed out, with these injuries.

What he wanted to know was how the man had walked this long and not healed—the sword belted at his waist looked like Rider-craft. Time for that later, he thought.

"Hey. Listen to me. You are going to be all right. My name is Morzan—I'm a Rider. Before I try and fix you, I need to know if there's poison in those wounds, or anything that'll prevent my magic from working. Do you know?"

The man's eyelids fluttered open, and Morzan's breath caught in his throat. He'd never seen that shade of blue anywhere but Rore's dragon and his mother's favourite flower—time for that later.

The blue-eyed man coughed. "I don't think so," he winced. "Urgals. Caught me—oh, this hurts."

Morzan smiled, as best he could under circumstances. "In which case you'll be fine. Hold still, yeah? And excuse me if I fall over on your chest—not the best at healing, me. But my dragon's guiding, so you'll be all right."

A spasm of pain and sadness struck the man, and Morzan touched his hand soothingly. Then he reached for the magic, whispered the spell-words, and felt it flow.

The man looked up at Morzan, bathed in Morzan and Alyzarin's magic, and said in a voice filled with wonder, "You're glowing—"

"Yeah," Morzan told him, absently. "Quiet for a moment." This was going to be tricky. He touched his dragon's mind, and she guided him.

_Here, the magic must hold. Keep it there, steady—Hold it, not that part. We'll come back to that. Let it flow, now. It knows its work._

He fell into the power, and understood how healers could glory in what they did.

Finally it was over, though. He eased back, felt the power drain from him into Alyzarin. The glow surrounding him and the blue-eyed stranger faded. He felt very weak, suddenly, and collapsed next to the man.

Morzan said, "How do you feel now?" There was an undercurrent of smugness in his voice, he knew, but even Vrael couldn't deny that he'd done well. Well, he and Alyzarin, he amended. His dragon had done most of the work, guiding the power inside them. Morzan had only been the conduit.

The man next to him rolled over. "I can do that," he grinned, and it was infectious. "By the way, I'm Galbatorix." His blue eyes were so—alive.

Morzan took a sharp breath, as his mind put two and two together, and he remembered. "You're—missing. There were search parties, and everything. What happened?" The instant the words left his mouth he regretted them.

"I'm sorry," he started to say, but the other man had started speaking.

"We were hunting. The three of us—we'd wanted to see the Spine on foot for a while, you know? 'Cos what with all the flying we hardly ever just stop and look. Our dragons were overhead, watching, but it happened so fast--"

"Urgals." Morzan said, with absolute conviction.

"Yeah. They're all--" Galbatorix's voice broke, and he looked away.

Morzan didn't know what to say—his dragon? He reached for Alyzarin, and the warmth of her mind held him safe.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, knowing the words were meaningless, and he held Galbatorix's hand until the healers and the Riders came.

_--End Flashback--_

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A/N: Apparently the theme song for Forsworn (this arc, at any rate) is Wicked's Defying Gravity. God knows why.

Also, teeny bit AU—apparently a farmer found Galbatorix when he got back. It's a part of the story, now, and in Forsworn canon. So evidentially Forsworn canon is like a degree off CP's.

And this is like the third time I've posted this chapter. Argh. Lady Bitter Irony? Thanks for that. Was v. helpful. (I probably missed a few, though, so send me your email so I can draft you into beta-ing, please?) Or, really, anyone who has free time? (looks around pathetically)

Reviews are good karma!


	3. Chapter Two

Hey—sorry for the wait, this chapter just _didn't want to be written. _ And uhm. I am v. Sorry for the relative lack of G/M this chapter; like I said—_did not want to be written._

Stupid muses. Pestering me about stuff that happens ¾ of the way into the _third arc. _Which will at the very least be fun & easy to write, so...

Anyway. When we last left our (anti)heroes, Morzan was moping outside a Council chamber and Galbatorix was raising merry hell inside it. Which is, incidentally, right where this picks up. Hope you like!

Warnings: Not been beta'd—MFL has retired from fandom, apparently, and JellyJay and I seem to not see each other around lately. Odd. Also OC's, who are hopefully less Sue-like than they appear.

Um. If anyone feels like beta'ing? You know how to reach me. (And if you can't figure it out? Sorry, no. Just, no).

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_Disclaimer: CP's. Not that he'd ever have written Galbatorix and Morzan _this _way. _

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FORSWORN

_The brightest light casts the darkest shadow._

--Chapter Two--

In the hall outside the Council chamber, Morzan's head was resting against the cool crystal wall. The voices inside the chamber reverberated, causing his head to buzz every time someone (usually Galbatorix) shouted or raised his voice.

Morzan grinned as Galbatorix made a particularly acerbic dirty comment, and Vrael sputtered. In his mind Alyzarin laughed, and it sounded like bells. But that brief moment of levity was over soon enough, and the meeting returned to its usual grimness. Morzan sighed, and settled in for a long wait.

--

The door opened violently, and Morzan started awake, looking around with a vague sense of guilt. Galbatorix burst out the door, cloak billowing dramatically. Vrael followed after him, distinctly displeased. Behind the two of them trailed the council-members, all looking vaguely puzzled.

In Morzan's head Alyzarin said, _I told you he'd be trouble!_

_Oh, be quiet. _Morzan got up, and Galbatorix grinned at him, fleeting and heart-breaking, before his face fell back into a grim mask. Vrael's mouth tightened into a firm line, as he observed their interaction disapprovingly.

The Leader of the Riders said, harshly, "This meeting is over."

Galbatorix flipped his cape decoratively. "For now. Morzan, come on."

Morzan blinked, feeling a bit like a rabbit caught in between a wolf and a hunter. _Alyzarin? _He asked, plaintively.

She was laughing in his head, utterly unconcerned with his plight. There were some drawbacks to having a happy-go-lucky dragon. _You got yourself into this! _

_Argh. _He looked back and forth between them, Galbatorix halfway leaving, Vrael fuming, and trailed after Galbatorix.

Morzan's father shot him a dirty look, but didn't stop his son leaving. Morzan winced, and refrained from speaking until they left the hall.

"All right, what in hell was that?!" Morzan demanded, angrily, once he and Galbatorix were out of the hall and into a quiet, secluded, wooded area. No witnesses. Good. "You do realize Vrael is my father, don't you?"

Galbatorix stopped, turned to look at Morzan, and fixed him with a piercing, imperial stare. Morzan ignored it; his father was _Vrael, Rider-in-chief_. It would take more than a stare to wear Morzan down. He was a little rattled though.

Galbatorix said, "They said no." His masks dropped, both of them, and Morzan almost flinched from the sorrow there.

"You didn't actually expect--" he asked, before he realized that yes, Galbatorix had, believed that the Council of Riders would grant their prodigal son a new egg. A second chance. But Morzan knew his father, and Vrael did not believe in second chances.

Galbatorix sat down on the ground, pulling his cloak around his shoulders, desolation borne in the slump of them. Morzan dropped onto a log with easy, lazy grace, running his fingers through his hair.

There was an awkward silence. Even Morzan's dragon was silent in his mind.

Finally, "I'm sorry," Morzan said. "I--"

Galbatorix said, "I know. It's just—how many of them have any _idea _what it's like to lose a dragon—the other half of your soul? Half the pompous idiots probably wouldn't feel it, they're so distant to their dragons."

Morzan blinked at that, and in his head Alyzarin said, _He's right. Kyra, that's Cyrin's dragon, the green? She just ferries him back and forth. He doesn't talk to her, at all. Except to tell her where to fly. She doesn't know what to do. _

Morzan mulled that over, before he told her, _Well, you know what? Cyrin's a bastard. Poor Kyra. Maybe he'll get himself killed by an Urgal. Wouldn't be too bad; maybe they'd promote Aryna. The dragons think she'd be good, right? _

Out loud he said nothing, reached out a hand to the older man. Galbatorix understood, and gripped his hand tightly, like a lifeline. Alyzarin, wisely, didn't say anything to break the mood.

They sat in silence, this time companionable, as both men lost themselves in thought.

"I wish--" Galbatorix whispered, so softly Morzan almost didn't hear him (but he did, he was a Rider, after all) "I want her back. I loved her _so much_--"

Morzan didn't know what to say, didn't know what to _feel_. This man lost everything, and Morzan thought his life was bad but Galbatorix's dragon is dead, and with her half the man's soul.

He whispered, "Tell me about her." And Galbatorix's eyes went dull and shuttered and pale, shallow blue, and he thought for a moment he might have miscalculated, said the wrong thing. But the other man closed his eyes, gathering strength, and it was all right.

Morzan's dragon said softly in his mind, _I hope you know what you're doing._

Morzan told her, _So do I._

The sky burned as the sun set.

Galbatorix opened his eyes, and Morzan saw a hint of the fiery clouds there.

The older man said, "Her name was Kisme, and she was gold--"

_-Interlude—Amaryth-(Several years ago)_

Amaryth kicked the man in the jaw, didn't wince at the audible snap, too busy running as fast as she could. Branches scraped her arms, legs, and face leaving thin red lines in their wake. She blinked the sweat out of her eyes, couldn't stop, oh god--

She kept running, eyes blurring, throat burning—and hit something. She blinked rapidly, looked at the object she'd hit—oh _crap—_she meant dragon.

She coughed, wincing at the rawness of her throat, and a male voice said, "Are you all right? What happened?"

She rubbed her eyes, said, "Help me, please—get me out of here now I can't stay--" all in a rush so fast she didn't know if he even heard it.

And then she looked at him, and would have blushed were her situation not quite this serious. He was tall, with dirty-blond hair and bright green eyes. Young—a couple of years younger than Amaryth herself; probably a fledge. And his dragon was green (stunning viridian, actually) and she... had murderous men after her.

Damn it.

To his credit, he didn't bother with questions. He said, "Hold still." And grabbed her, whispered something she didn't understand, but--

Kalan staggered into the clearing, and instinctively she recoiled. The man covered her mouth and she hissed, tried to bite him. He whispered, "Sssh. He can't see us." and left his hand in place.

She twisted around to look at him, and she must have looked angry because he let go of her mouth, and mouthed an apology. The dragon was gone, too. The magic mut have worked on it too. Odd, she thought. But she had other things to worry about.

Kalan (_that **bastard**, _she thought) looked around. "Where are you, pretty little thing? Come to me..."

A sick feeling burned in her stomach. The Rider looked horrified, raised his sword, and she wondered if he knew. If he would take the spell off, leave her to fend for herself. She'd probably deserve it. Amaryth sighed.

The Rider looked at her, and she heard a soft voice in her _mind_. What?

_Stay very still. I'll take care of this. _And she realized—he was going to—defend her. She replied, "_No," _and was startled to hear no sound out of her lips.

So was the Rider. _You can--_

She wasn't going to dwell on that now—the Rider seemed a good man, and she wasn't about to let him get killed for _her. _She said, _He's a mage, kind of; he has—power. Weird kinds of power, and he _claimed_ me. Please, just wait until he leaves? _trying very hard to emulate what she'd done before. Evidently it worked, because Kalan wasn't grabbing her—and best to avoid _that _train of thought.

The Rider was uneasy; she could tell by the set of his mouth—and his rocking from foot to foot hesitantly.

_Please? _She sent, and he didn't do anything, though she knew he wasn't pleased. She'd explain later.

Kalan, evidently deciding that she wasn't there, moved on into the forest, face twisted in a scowl, and she sighed in relief. _Thank you, _Amaryth said, forgetting she could speak aloud, and the Rider whispered a word.

She blinked several times very fast as the dragon appeared, sitting in front of her. It fixed her with a dark-green stare. Its intensity sent shivers up her spine, and she looked away—only to meet the equally fierce gaze of the dragon's rider.

"What," he spat angrily, "the **fuck** was that?"

She stepped back, half-frightened (though not as much as she had been before—Kalan topped a Dragon Rider-in-training anyday—_they_ had _oaths_), blood humming in her veins. She'd run if she had to; it wouldn't be the first time a potential rescue had turned into just another enemy, just another nightmare to add to the list.

She took a breath; he said, "Never mind. We can finish this once I get you to Ilirea; does your right arm hurt?"

She blinked, and—oh. "_Ow_," she said; evidentially she hadn't noticed that her right arm was hanging at a dangerous angle, caught up in the fear, and _damnit _she wanted to be scared now please because her arm _hurt. _

" I'll take that as a yes—hold still," the Rider said, closing his eyes, and _Amaryth's arm didn't hurt_.

"--Thank you?" she said, unsure—his eyes were anything but happy.

His mouth compressed into a neat line, and he said, "Don't thank me. Come on. We're going home—Camire—that's my dragon—she tells me you're half-elven and as magickal as I am, with aptitude to boot. The council are going to want to know what you were doing with a known supplier of _skola_, who according to you has magic too."

Amaryth nodded, mouth dry—she couldn't run, now—he had magic, for Goddess' sake, and a dragon—and _holy Goddess;_ she was _free of Kalan_. But—how had she managed to lose him? How had he not seen through the Rider's spell to their blood-tie?

She shook her head to rid herself of disparaging thoughts—the Rider had a dragon; they chose for a reason, and not lightly. She'd be safe; at least until she could get free again.

The Rider, halfway up his dragon's back, called, "Come on, girl--"

She retorted, "I'm no girl—I'm older than you are, at that—and my name is Amaryth. Amaryth of Fivarre." but she smiled at the dragon, and came closer.

He laughed, "Come up, then, Amaryth! I'm Dermail--" and he offered her his hand.

She took it, and for the first time in far too long Amaryth _smiled_.

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I promise all of this will make more sense next chapter. Maybe. Thanks for reading! 


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